


Storied Skin

by Kalira



Category: Naruto
Genre: (as per canon), (discussed not current), Blood, Blood and Gore, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Death, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Character Death, Scars, Uchiha Brothers, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 07:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: Sharing a languidly warm moment with his lover, Tobirama finds a scar he's never before noticed, then more, and wonders how he's missed them. He gets a little more than he bargained for when Madara offers up the stories behind them.





	Storied Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Whumptober](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/post/187785964678/whumptober2019-october-approaches-and-so-does), Day 15: Scars
> 
> I started writing this at 11pm yesterday. I didn't have a plot for today's prompt ahead of time, but this . . . clearly had a story to be told.

Tobirama smiled slightly as Madara stretched languidly, _purring_ beneath his hands. He propped himself up and leaned over, smoothing his hand down towards Madara’s hip and nuzzling the slope of his shoulder blade, brushing a feathery trail of kisses there.

Madara _mewed_ and Tobirama grinned, closing his eyes and sighing as he nuzzled closer. Madara’s chakra was searing and strong as ever beneath his cheek as he rested his head against his lover’s back, but . . . calm and content. It made Tobirama shiver, a pull inside drawing him to curl as close as he could, to melt into Madara.

Something brushed past his lips for the third time and he hummed, lifting his head and opening his eyes as a flick of his fingers over his lover’s skin made him realise it wasn’t Madara’s wild hair this time. He saw nothing on Madara’s back and frowned, but when he brushed his hand over Madara’s shoulder again the small bump was still there.

He leaned closer and found it was a pale, thin scar, slanting up Madara’s shoulder blade and angling deep over his shoulder blade. Tobirama had never seen it - never _noticed_ it - before, and his throat tightened.

He knew all too well what sorts of damage could be inflicted, where and how, and while it wasn’t the most direct path. . .

“What happened here?” Tobirama asked quietly, tracing the length of the scar with his fingertips.

“Mm?” Madara responded lazily, muscles in his back flexing as he arched and drew a deep breath, then settled once more.

Tobirama traced the scar again. “What happened?” he asked again, barely a breath.

Madara hummed, then rolled his shoulder, shifting his shoulder blade up under the deepest part of the scar for a moment. “Hagoromo. One of them _lost_ it, took her fucking spear to go after Hikaku when he was down, screaming about weakness.”

Tobirama tensed, fingers twitching.

. . .still, much as it drew his ire, that didn’t explain the scar. “How. . .”

“Hikaku couldn’t move. Barely even saw her in time, I think. He was trying to get a katon up, but he was half out of it with poison already. From one of the _other_ Hagoromo who got _sloppy_ with his _fucking senbon_ \- Hikaku has a set of three scars above his collarbone from them; it makes Izuna angry,” Madara said, voice just a little slower than usual, comfortable despite the story he was telling, “I didn’t have anything to hand to throw at her and my ankle was broken, so I had to run it but it wasn’t fast.”

Tobirama hissed in sympathy. Although _not fast_ by Madara’s standards, while nowhere near his _own_, was enough to make even most ninja feel inadequate.

“Got to them just in time to try and stop her, but then Hikaku lost his jutsu and nearly set himself on fire, and he was screaming. . .” Madara grumbled, deep in his chest, and Tobirama stroked him thoughtlessly. He sighed, an unhappy tinge to the sound. “I knocked the Hagoromo bitch away and caught Hikaku’s katon and I was killing it and then. . .”

Tobirama squeezed his eyes shut.

“I lost three days after that.” Madara said almost lightly, and they snapped open again.

“_What?_” Tobirama demanded, hearing his own tone spike.

“Poison. Hagoromo. The lot of them are typhoon-taunting fucking _crazy_, Tobi.” Madara said with a groan. “I lost about three days; was _down_ for about three weeks.” he grumbled grouchily. “By the time I was catching up with things for the clan Izuna had just about declared war on the Hagoromo. Probably for the best he and Hikaku hadn’t sorted things out yet then or he _would_ have, no doubt. . .”

Tobirama swallowed thickly. “Tell me that’s when you broke your allyship with them.” he said, and only realised belatedly he had spoken aloud. He shook his head, catching his breath. “And. . . I doubt Izuna could be any more fiercely incandescent with rage over _anyone_ than he gets over you when you might be harmed, Mada.” he said softly.

Izuna loved Hikaku deeply and desperately, but the love and protectiveness between the Uchiha brothers was incredible.

It was, in fact, what had finally buried the sharply acrimonious feeling between himself and Izuna. Izuna would have gutted him with a smile _anyway_, but once he had taken up with Madara Izuna would have cheerfully staked him out, peeled his skin off, and left him to slow roast if he thought Madara was even _slightly_ heartsore.

Tobirama had been surprised when Izuna approached him in an almost friendly manner entirely of his own accord and hadn’t realised until later it had come after Tobirama had a meeting with the Senju elders whilst Hashirama was gone. Tobirama had lost his temper, flattened half the council hall with a thinly-controlled suiton, and frankly reminded everyone with his shouting that while he controlled himself better he and Hashirama _were_ brothers.

Perhaps, Tobirama thought, bending to kiss Madara’s shoulder near the base of his neck, he ought to do it more often. He didn’t _enjoy_ sparking fear in his own people, but the wide-eyed looks and the shivers of fright and scurrying attempts to placate him with hurried retractions of the accusations and _suggestions_ they had made about Madara had been rather satisfying. In that instance. Idiots. Tobirama kissed his lover’s shoulder again, breathing deeply and letting the memory go once more.

Another smooth variation on Madara’s seemingly unmarred skin made Tobirama look closer, and he found a slightly darker patch of skin he really would have thought he’d have noticed, with as much time as he’d spent up close with this part of his lover. “Madara?” he asked, and let his tongue flick over the scar.

Madara twitched, breath catching. “Mm. . . What is it?” he asked, arching languidly beneath Tobirama leaning across his back.

“A mark left by the healing of an old injury, I assume.” Tobirama said dryly, and Madara made a muddled noise, then elbowed him sharply. Tobirama laughed and shifted to nestle closer against him. “What got you _here_?”

Madara grumbled huffily. “Myself.” he muttered. “Was trying a new katon I wasn’t quite used to controlling yet in a battle. Against a handful of fuuton affinity nin.” he added, and Tobirama winced. “Mm.” Madara hummed acknowledgement, and Tobirama realised he’d shifted to glance up and back at Tobirama from the corner of his eyes. “Had to cut my hair that season, too. Tried to convince Izuna I wanted to try something new, but the little brat wouldn’t take it, of course. . .”

“Wait, you had to _cut your hair_?” Tobirama repeated, trying to picture it. He slid his left hand through the heavy mass of Madara’s hair, splayed over his left shoulder and off onto the bed beside him. Madara simply . . . wasn’t himself without the masses of hair.

Madara purred, melting into the bed. “Yes.” he mumbled. “Remember? Had short hair when we met.”

Tobirama’s brows rose, but he nodded. He . . . _supposed_ that day with their brothers and their fathers at the river counted as _meeting_ Madara. Though it had been years before they saw each other again - slender and tall, Madara had looked much different then; and his hair had fallen in a wild tumble down around his shoulders. Certainly _far_ longer before they . . . met civilly.

“So . . . you got burned?” Tobirama asked, kissing the scar.

Madara huffed. “My hair mostly. Also got caught around my neck badly enough it cut into my neck. It was a mess.” he said with a fluid shrug of his shoulders, stretching his arms up and then folding them beneath his cheek.

Tobirama reached up and slid his hand over one of the few scars he _had_ seen before. “This one?” he asked, trying not to think about how dangerous the injury Madara had taken must have been, with his neck burned and torn.

Madara laughed. “Izuna. _Brat._ Thought he was much better with our clan’s inverted shuriken technique than he was. He was eight. I dodged most of them, but that one got me pretty good, didn’t it?”

Tobirama had expected a story from another battle, looking at the sweeping line of the slashed scar. He shook his head, snorting. “Evidently he did.”

Madara hummed, still sounding amused. “Aunt was . . . _unhappy_.”

“I can imagine.” Tobirama said, rubbing the scar again. “Brothers.”

Madara laughed, then twisted beneath Tobirama, eyes bright as he met Tobirama’s gaze, sliding one hand up to cradle the nape of his neck. “I suppose he’s worth it.” he said lightly, lips tilting a little. “I-” He took a breath. “I like it, really. Now, anyway.” He rolled his eyes. “Then I was angry.”

“Reasonably.” Tobirama agreed. It wasn’t a horrific injury, but it was not a scratch either. And Izuna could have done much worse, if he’d been in a position to cause that much damage to his brother with one shuriken.

“Izuna hates to see it, but. . .” Madara rolled one shoulder, fingers curling behind Tobirama’s nape. “It’s . . . a reminder of him. When he was young and silly.”

“Because he never is now.” Tobirama teased gently, and was rewarded with another low laugh, the thrum of it sliding through his body from his lover’s. Tobirama stroked his chest absently, appreciating the feel of it, then paused and traced out the slope of his defined pectorals rather than the contours where his muscles built together, as usual.

There were perhaps a dozen tiny drop-shaped scars beneath Tobirama’s fingers, and a few more longer scars amongst them. “What _possibly_ happened here?” Tobirama asked, glancing up to meet Madara’s eyes.

Madara shrugged. “An old injury healed but left a mark.” he said lightly, and smirked when Tobirama glared at him, eyes narrowed. “Kirihito took a blow to the head that rattled his brain, and he couldn’t really walk anyway, with the condition his right leg was in. . . I was carrying him, but,” he paused and gestured at his chest, and Tobirama frowned, “he was delirious, Tobi. He didn’t mean to hurt me and he didn’t do that much damage anyway. It likely wouldn’t even have scarred if it hadn’t scabbed up with shreds of my clothes and a few bits of broken armour in the wounds.”

Tobirama winced, but nodded, rubbing his hand over the scattered marks, almost invisible and all slanted in the same direction, like a small rainstorm. Madara drew a breath, chest rising beneath Tobirama’s hand, and his petting may have edged into a caress.

Madara smiled slightly, reaching up and letting his fingertips play up the tender inside of Tobirama’s forearm as he wandered away from the scars to trace his lover’s impressive muscles. He hummed appreciatively, and Madara shifted beneath him, muscles tensing and then relaxing once more under Tobirama’s palm.

He dipped his head and pressed a kiss there, casting his eyes up to meet Madara’s, and grinned when he shivered. Tobirama moved over him, skin on warm skin, and dragged his hands down his lover’s body.

He paused as he pushed himself up astride Madara’s thighs, something tugging at him - perhaps that he had already been searching out the barely visible marks on Madara’s skin, been looking closely. He swallowed and let his palm rest high on Madara’s belly where there was a slightly thicker scar almost as long as his hand.

Madara met his gaze and frowned slightly, glancing down his own body. Tobirama rubbed at the scar.

“Ah. I was patrolling . . . somewhat,” Madara gave a short laugh, “I was on my own. Not far from the compound, I just . . . needed to clear my head.”

Tobirama mentally filled in that he’d had either bad news or a rough day with his clan elders or some other argument with his people, and nodded.

“The little ones were out, seeing what they could find to supplement the stores; mushrooms, wild plants, small game,” Madara shrugged and Tobirama nodded again, “I wasn’t looking for them, but I was near enough. . .”

Madara was silent for a long few minutes, and Tobirama rubbed up over his lower ribs. “Madara?” he said gently.

“I was close enough that when they started screaming,” Madara said, and Tobirama’s stomach sank, “I heard them. They weren’t alone - an adult was keeping an eye on them - but by the time I got there he was already down. He may have been before they even started screaming.”

Tobirama winced. “The children. . ?”

“None of them were hurt beyond being terrified and a few bumps and bruises, by the time I reached them.” Madara said, and his expression twisted. “I think he was _trying_ to frighten them. Bastard.”

Tobirama scowled, and Madara shook his head, taking a breath. “He stopped playing around when I showed up, anyway. It was just the one, but. . . Well. The children. I was limited, and I had to stay close, so that when he tried to strike them, I could. . .”

“This?” Tobirama asked, covering the scar with his hand.

“The katana took me through there.” Madara nodded, sliding his hand over Tobirama’s on his belly. “I’d rather not have gotten half-gutted in front of the children, but it was better that it was me than one of them, anyway.”

“Of course.” Tobirama said distractedly, rubbing the scar and feeling the shift of Madara’s abdominal muscles beneath the skin. “How- How badly. . .” he began leadingly, raising his eyes to meet Madara’s gaze once more.

“Tsumaru knew what he was doing, bastard that he was.” Madara said, and Tobirama jolted, eyes widening. Madara nodded slightly, and Tobirama slumped slightly. His uncle. “As soon as he realised he’d got _me_ and not one of the children, he tried to maximise the damage, and he didn’t do half a bad job. I’ve only got one kidney. Part of my liver had to be removed, too.” Madara said, with a huffed out breath that spilled into a laugh. “Well, it didn’t really _have to be removed_, it mostly bled out in gobs on its own, honestly- Tobi?”

Tobirama swallowed firmly, stomach in knots.

“Tobi, are you actually. . .” Madara shifted a little and stroked his face. “Really, love?” he questioned, eyebrows raised.

“It’s-” Tobirama swallowed again and shook his head. “It’s that it’s _you_. I could-” Tobirama could deal out that sort of damage himself without batting an eye, could suffer it himself and as long as it was survivable. . . But. . . He shuddered.

It _wasn’t_ some nameless enemy, and it wasn’t himself. It was Madara and the thought was all too vivid - Tobirama had seen injuries like it up close - and too far away at once. There was nothing Tobirama could do, and he could have _lost_ Madara, this wonderful, devoted, ridiculous man, before he ever knew he had a chance to have him - before knowing he would even _want_ Madara, that they would match each other so very well.

“How did you. . .” Tobirama paused, taking a breath, rubbing almost thoughtlessly at the scar. “How did you get away from- from my uncle? You and the children.”

“Shattered his collarbone and set his armour on fire.” Madara said, and suddenly Tobirama knew when it was, remembered Tsumaru coming into the compound cursing in pain with only a few sooty pieces of his armour intact. “Got him just about backed off, and then Hikaku showed up. He’d been carrying a message, was on his way home.”

“Good.” Tobirama breathed.

“It was. Wouldn’t have made it home without him, I think.” Madara said, and Tobirama shuddered, an unpleasant tingle sparking beneath his skin.

“Oh.” Tobirama took a deep, slightly unsteady breath, picturing it all too well.

“All of us. Except. . . Well.” Madara shook his head. “Hikaku had his hands full with carrying me, and keeping charge of the children. Someone had to be sent back for. . .”

Tobirama stroked his face comfortingly, and Madara tugged him down into an embrace.

Tobirama went willingly, bending over Madara and pressing close. He nuzzled Madara’s cheek and pressed a kiss to his jaw, fingers sinking into his hair. Madara hugged him firmly, fingers splaying over his back and hip.

“I’m all right.” Madara promised, kissing the curve of his ear. “And here. With you.”

Tobirama laughed softly. It wasn’t the steadiest laugh, but it eased his nausea a little. “So you are. And I am very grateful for it.” he said honestly, toying with Madara’s hair and cuddling into his embrace, lying across him.

Madara hummed, lips curling, and one of his hands wandered up Tobirama’s back.

“How are all your scars. . .” Tobirama traced one of them lightly, fingertips caressing the slender, almost invisible line across Madara’s upper arm where his lover’s skin had healed from the slash that had probably cut deep enough to sever muscle.

“Mm? Ah, I’ve always healed well.” Madara said as Tobirama pulled back a little.

“You- Iryou nin. . .” Tobirama trailed off as Madara’s lips curled a bit at the corners. It wasn’t a happy smile.

“You know we haven’t. . . Well.” Madara drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Not many in our clan have the aptitude or . . . the drive. The last strong iryou nin we had. . .”

He closed his eyes, looking away, and Tobirama’s heart lurched. “Madara?” he asked gently.

“Aratsu . . . died when I was four.” Madara said quietly. “Of chakra exhaustion. He- He killed himself trying to save Kou’s life.”

“Kou?” Tobirama repeated thinly. He knew the name, though only from painful shared memories his lover had offered. “Your-”

“My eldest brother. He was. . . He was three. He was bleeding out and his lungs had collapsed and were full of blood and his heart was damaged and his _eyes_ were. . .” Madara’s voice grew faster and faster until it stopped in a choked noise and Tobirama brushed his fingertips over Madara’s mouth to hush him. “Aratsu tried to save him.” Madara said beneath his touch. “He poured so much into it that he went cold, and then he kept going. He collapsed, and his heart had stopped.”

Tobirama drew a shallow breath. Madara- Madara had been so young but his words. . . Madara had _been there_, had watched, Tobirama thought with a dreadful weight.

“We lost Kou, too. He wasn’t strong enough.” Madara’s lashes fluttered, spiky and wet. “Of course he wasn’t.”

“Oh _Madara_.” Tobirama said softly, his own eyes burning with tears.

Madara smiled weakly at him, and Tobirama shifted and tentatively moved closer once more. Madara’s arms closed around his waist, almost painfully tight this time, and Tobirama curled himself around his lover, crooning soothingly.

Madara leaned into him, face hidden in the crook of his shoulder, and Tobirama hummed and stroked his hair, held him close . . . thought with horror of who might have killed his brother. Tobirama _knew_ Kou had been killed by a Senju child-killing squad. He was. . .

He was glad he had been so young then that he had no idea who it might have been.

He closed his eyes and buried his face in his lover’s hair, and didn’t let go until Madara pulled away a little himself. Madara gave him a worn smile, and Tobirama returned it, brushing away tears with his fingers. Madara closed his eyes again, tilting his head into Tobirama’s touch, and he continued, though it wasn’t accomplishing much to dry Madara’s face, really.

Tobirama paused as something shifted beneath his fingertips, not wanting to hurt his lover, and looked closer as he pulled away a wild lock of Madara’s hair. He swallowed. He hadn’t thought- He hadn’t been _looking_ for another scar, but he had found one.

A narrow vee where two lines met at one end, just in the notch of bone at the outside corner of Madara’s right eye, where it would usually be well hidden by his fringe. One of the lines extended across his face towards his hairline. Tobirama bit his lip and didn’t ask, forcing himself to move again, picking more strands of Madara’s hair away from his wet face and tucking them back.

Madara squeezed his hip. “I was a child,” he said, voice low, and Tobirama’s gaze drifted to meet his lover’s once more, “when I got that one. I remember it, of course; I wasn’t _that_ young. But. . .”

Tobirama looked at the scar, throat tightening.

“I woke up when they came in the window. Not immediately, but . . . before they reached the futon.” Madara said, blinking. “I couldn’t move, though. I didn’t know why. Not then, anyway.”

Tobirama’s brows drew together, and Madara’s lips twisted into a slanted smile. “Nara. I was trapped almost as soon as I woke up.” he said softly, and Tobirama’s breath caught, a shudder rushing up his spine at the thought. “I didn’t know them then, not really, not what they could _do_ . . . and if I had I wouldn’t have thought. . . Not in my own home.”

Tobirama muttered a denial, shaking his head, and Madara’s lips twitched. “Yes. Exactly.” he agreed. He reached up and brushed his fingertips beside his eye, crossing over the scar. “They passed by Izuna, and Togakushi. . . I think because they were so little, both of them. The Nara . . . they didn’t think either of them. . .”

“Madara?” Tobirama said softly.

“They wanted my Sharingan. Easier to get from a child, you know.” Madara said with a bitter smile. “I was trapped and I was _so afraid_ one of my brothers would wake, would be hurt. . . I almost forgot to be afraid for myself, even when they knelt over me, and I could see the blade, and I was _trapped_.”

Tobirama closed his eyes for a moment. Of course he had. If Togakushi had still been there Madara had to have been no more than nine, and probably younger. But of course he had been more worried for his brothers.

“What happened?” Tobirama asked, stroking Madara’s jaw.

“One of them did.” Madara said simply, and Tobirama swallowed painfully. “Kuro, though. He was bigger. He-” He paused, catching his breath. “Only a year younger than me, but he always slept right by the wall after we lost Kou. They- They’d slept together since they were born and he said without Kou. . .”

Tobirama nodded as Madara paused, taking a few deep breaths. Kuro. Kuro who had died less than a year after his twin. Madara had been _five_, at most.

“Nara was trying to be careful - of course they were,” Madara snorted, “it’s _hard_ to get Sharingan, wouldn’t want to fuck it up.” Tobirama clasped his hand, rubbing gently over his knuckles, which had gone white from tension. “They set the blade there,” he tipped his head, and Tobirama nodded, “but before they could do anything Kuro. . .”

Tobirama bit his lip, stomach twisting. “They slipped, when Kuro attacked. Lost the jutsu, and I could move. The blade,” Madara gestured, lashes fluttering, “it slipped too, when I fought. Kuro panicked, screamed; I think he thought Nara had half blinded me then,” he paused, “given how Kou died, I can’t blame him.” he added more softly.

Tobirama closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Kuro just. . . He went after Nara like mad. I was bleeding and it _hurt_ and Izuna and Togakushi were waking up. . . Togakushi was screaming, he was so little. . . Izuna was yelling too, and Kuro just kept going _after_ Nara, and I could barely get up. . .” Madara said softly, voice slow. “It was hard to see, with the blood, though he didn’t damage my eye. I went to help as soon as I could get my legs to work.”

“Of course.” Tobirama said softly.

“Nara got Kuro’s throat just when mother came in.” Madara said quietly, and Tobirama’s chest tightened painfully. “Last thing he ever did,” he added with a weak attempt at a smile, meeting Tobirama’s eyes once more, “mother. . .”

Tobirama stroked Madara’s face, humming at a very soft pitch, soothing.

“It took them a week to scrub all the blood out of our room, you know. That and replace some of the walls and things that had gotten so sodden with it they were ruined.” Madara said absently. “Mother was . . . _furious_. I never saw her so angry, so _mad_ with it. There was blood _everywhere_ and I think she may have killed Nara with her bare hands. It was all right that we couldn’t go back to our room for so long,” he added as Tobirama tried, eyes wide, to picture Uchiha Akari in such a state, “mother wouldn’t let us out of her sight, hardly, for weeks. We stayed with her.”

“Of course.” Tobirama agreed, and tried to imagine going back to that room, as a child, anyway. The room where you had been attacked, where your brother had _died_. . .

Tobirama hadn’t been able to face stepping into the room Itama had shared with him after his brother died and it hadn’t even been at home. Their father wouldn’t have allowed it, of course, but . . . Tobirama had slipped into Hashirama’s room and he’d never known. Hashirama had been grateful for his company, he thought.

He wondered if that was why the Uchiha brothers had all slept in the same room, after losing Kou.

“Father didn’t care for it,” Madara said, lips tilting into a sharp, not quite pleased smile, “but mother didn’t exactly let him argue.”

“Madara. . .” Tobirama finally found his voice again. He brushed a gentle fingertip over the scar by Madara’s eye once more, and Madara’s smile eased into something a little less angry and wild. “I’m- Oh, I’m sorry.”

Madara caught his breath, almost a sniff, and nodded. Tobirama bent and kissed his brow, fingers straying to stroke Madara’s hair. Tension slowly bled from Madara’s body, and Tobirama crooned softly, trying not to think of his lover so young and vulnerable and _scared_, and then watching his brother descend into what had probably been grief-fuelled madness . . . watching him _die_. . .

Pushing those thoughts away, Tobirama brushed more kisses to Madara’s face, dipping to press one to the scar by his eye. Madara relaxed more and more under the kisses and the soft touch, and Tobirama rubbed his back and up to the nape of his neck between long strokes down his hair.

“I’ll tell you the stories of rest of them some other time, perhaps.” Madara said eventually, and Tobirama paused for a moment, glancing down his lover’s body, curious. He hadn’t seen many scars on Madara - he was _good_, he was rarely hurt so badly - but he had never before realised there might be some so very easy to miss. “If you would like to know more of them.”

“I want to know everything.” Tobirama said without pausing to think. “About you.”

Madara smiled, eyes warm. Tobirama kissed him, then pulled away with a smirk spreading across his face. “Perhaps,” he said, and Madara hummed, tilting his head, “sometime _I_ shall tell _you_ the story behind the marks you seem to enjoy so much.”

Madara hummed again, looking faintly confused, and Tobirama shifted, tilting his head. Madara’s gaze dropped to the point of the highest red mark other than those Tobirama wore on his face, then darted back up to meet Tobirama’s own. “What? Wait- Those aren’t- _Story?_”

“There are a few.” Tobirama said lightly, grinning. “They aren’t tattoos, really, you know.” he added teasingly, and laughed as Madara pounced on him, tumbling him onto his back on the bed, fingers sliding up one of the chakra marks on his ribs, hardly needing to look to follow it.

“Tobi!” Madara said, then pouted. “What stories?”

“I suppose that’s a yes, you would like to know, then.” Tobirama teased, and groaned as Madara pressed close, biting at his collarbone just gently enough that the hot spike of sensation wasn’t, quite, unpleasantly painful. “Not tonight, though.” he said, voice softer. “Some other time.”

Lifting his head, Madara frowned as he met Tobirama’s eyes, but nodded willingly. Tobirama sighed, hands sliding up and over his lover’s shoulders, then drawing him in close for a soft kiss.

“I want to know everything about you, too.” Madara said quietly, against his mouth.

“You can _have_ everything about me,” Tobirama promised, fingertips brushing past Madara’s temple and pushing into his hair, “all of me, all my stories, everything there is, for you if you want it, my darling.”

Madara stilled for a moment, then crushed Tobirama to himself, burying his face against Tobirama’s neck. Tobirama closed his eyes, smiling, and let his fingers tangle in Madara’s hair.


End file.
